Spring and Summer
by BellatrixxNarcissa
Summary: What would have happened if Wendla escaped from the abortionist, and had met Melchior at the church? And can it still be a happy ending for them and their child? **NOW COMPLETE**
1. A Butterfly

"MAMA!" I scream at the top of my lungs as I'm pulled into the living room of this strange man's house. No, I know this man. The town doctor, a gentle man, as far as I knew. He comes monthly to see if I will grow to be big and strong, like Mama. He always tells me to eat vegetables and plenty of meat, to make me grow well. He always treats me with such care and gentleness, almost lovingly. But not now. Not now. I beat and I scream with all my might but his iron grip keeps my wrist in firm place.

"Quiet, child, you'll wake the neighbors!" He pulls me over to a miniscule sofa and pushes on my shoulders so that I sit, but I'm as stiff as a rock.

"Where's my Mama?" I scream at him, tears already streaming down my cheeks as he waddles over to a table to inspect a kettle. "What's happening? Why am I here?"

"Be quiet like I said, child!" He says turning, now with a steaming cup, which he thrusts at me. "Here, drink this, It'll make you feel better. I'll give you some time to calm down."

I take the cup, but I don't drink it, something tells me not to. Instead, I hold it in my hands to warm them and relax the uncontrollable shudders rippling through my body. It's cold in this house, definitely colder than mine. Mama always keeps a warm fire going. But I don't think that it's the cold of the room that is making me shudder. I hold the cup in my hand, trying to bring the warmth into the rest of my body.

I held that cup in my hands for what must have been hours while the doctor bustled around the room. While he prepared whatever was going to happen, I get a good look around the room. It's plain, with a stove on one end, a sofa in the middle and a low table covered in tools on the other. In the corner of the wall, the only splash of color in the room. A butterfly.

It would be awful sweet to be a little butterfly. Just to fly wherever I please, never have to be anywhere or do anything for anyone. Maybe that's what I'll be when I die. A butterfly. A simple butterfly. I don't believe I'll go to Heaven anymore. I have done so many sinful things, it's impossible to list them and even if you could, I don't know what to call them so it's impossible to know. Anyway, Melchi told me that religion is something that the grown-ups try and make you believe and that if there really was a God, and he loved his people, why would there be all the suffering in this world? I said this to my Sunday School but Father told me off for it, said that it was a sin to speak ill of God. So I suppose that could be added to my list of sins. If it is a sin to speak ill of God, I must have so many. Melchi and I spent days by the stream, lying in the grass, talking. About everything. About nothing.

Melchior. What I did with him must have been a sin. Mama told me many times that it was, and that I was a wicked girl and would go straight to Hell. But it felt so right, and I felt something with him that I can't describe. Completeness and a sense of security, like I was sure that he would never hurt me. Every time I thought of him since then, I have felt an aching in my chest, like someone's ripped a part out of it. And the child. Our child.

It must have come from that. There's no other way that it could have happened. If I had know at the time, I would have…

I don't know. My head is a rainstorm of emotions and thoughts, it's so bad that I feel like screaming. I can't think straight. I keep seeing and feeling different things. Exasperation, when my Mama lied to me. Horror when I saw Martha's injuries. The bitter sting, when I was beaten. The indescribable pain with Melchior, neither bad nor good. The feeling when I saw Melchior at Moritz Stiefel's funeral. Oh, Moritz. We had been such good friends as children. When we played pirates, with Ilse and Melchior. I wonder if any of them remember it. I think about it every day. It's one happy memory. One happy, out of millions of lost ones. Perhaps this could all be a game of pirates, an innocent child's play.

I grip onto the cup, I feel as if I'm falling and the handle of the cup is the only thing that keeps me up. My shaking has stopped but in it's place, a feeling of dread creeping into my stomach.

I have to leave. Now.

"Wendla? I'm ready for you, please come here." I turn and see the doctor with his right hand outstretched towards me. In his left, a long, thin tool with a blade on the end of it. A deadly weapon. Something that could hurt me. Something that will hurt me, if I stay longer.

I stand up and force myself to take two steps towards him. But my unconscious mind gets the better of me and I turn, swing open the door and sprint for my life.

I don't know where I'm going, all I can see are shadows hitting me in the face and and his voice calling to me.

"Wendla! Wendla come back here!"

But I can't go back. He'll kill me and my child. I have to keep running.

I wonder if I have already died. After all, I'm running free and wild, like a butterfly.

**So there you go! this is my first attempt and you know the drill, give me some feedback!**


	2. Lost

I don't know how long I have walked. But I keep walking. My dress is torn from getting through the hedges that mark the entrance to the village. But I still keep walking.

I'm sure it was days ago that I fled. Now, I don't know why I did it. I'm hungry, tired and very frightened. I've heard them calling me several times. I've seen tem calling me, from whatever tree I had climbed up. Mama, Anna, Thea, Martha are all among them. I feel such guilt for leaving but I can't go back. I knew they'd kill me. They'd kill my child. Now, I have to keep walking

My foot falls on yet another pine nut but I don't even flinch. I have enough of these injuries that it doesn't hurt anymore. I lost my shoes yesterday, when the stones on the floor made holes in them and grew blisters at the bottom of my foot. What does hurt is my head, which is throbbing after I hit it on that branch. The trees are so much taller here, bushier, I'm sure I've never been in this part of the forest. It's unfamiliar, scary, and I'm glad that I have the last shreds of daylight to keep me company and help me find a place to stay for the night.

This is not good for the child, surely. The child needs to be cared for, the mother needs plenty to eat and drink, have a soft sleeping place, not the bristly forest floor.

I toss a stone at a rose bush with a stunning orange flower perched on it. However, beauty means nothing to me, rather something I spit at in disgust.

I have been eating raspberries, they're everywhere! It must be time for them to come out, the end of spring, start of summer. If I didn't have them, I would surely die.

I keep walking, walking.

My mind wanders back to Melchior, as it always does. I wonder what he's doing, where he is. I know that he's been sent away to that school for troubled boys. I wonder if he read my letter. I wonder if he hates me.

He has all rights to hate me. It is because of me that he's at that school, he'll hate me even more when he finds out about the child. And yet I still yearn for him, to pull me into his arms and talk to me like we'd talked so many times before.

And I also yearn for Ilse. She was such a kindred soul, always willing to help. I remember when we were running around in front of the church and I tripped and scraped up my knee. She came and put her cardigan over it, and helped me wobble over to my house, where my Mama put cool water on it, which made it sting, but Ilse was always there, holding my hand and telling me not to cry. I was dismayed when she was thrown out of her house and disappeared for weeks on end. When she finally came back, that was the day that Moritz killed himself.

I pass the orange rose again and its radiance disgusts me. I want to tear it apart, destroy it, never to have its beauty again.

Wait. If I saw the rose, it means I'm near the village. I have to move away. I can't get too near, or they'll see me. But something draws me closer. I keep walking, against my better judgment, towards a large building. The lights are leaving. Night will be soon. I have to find somewhere to sleep.

When I finally reach the wall, it's already dark. A thin mist has begun to settle among it. As I walk around the wall, I notice the tall, thin stones coming out of the grass. This is strangely familiar, all of this. The wall gets longer and longer and the stones get fewer and fewer. As I walk further, the sense of dread comes back, as it has so many times over the past few days. I fell like hundreds of eyes are watching me and as many souls are following me.

I trip over and something hits my foot, the same place where I stepped on the pine nut.

"Ouch!" I exclaim, and look to see what had caused the sudden pain. Another one of those long stones. But this one intrigues me and I bend down and take a closer look at it. A gravestone. I thought as much. I squint in the fading light to see the inscription.

_Moritz Stiefel_

_1878 - 1893_

_Loved by so many, yet still left behind._

The full impact of everything hits me then and I break down in uncontrollable sobs, clutching the gravestone. I think about all that I've lost. Mama, Anna, Thea, Martha, Ilse, Moritz, Melchior.

Oh, Melchior, Melchior, I loved you and how much I try, I can't bring myself to regret what I did with you. It seemed wrong at the time and even afterwards but I love you and I wish that I hadn't left you behind.

I sit there for another few hours, until I have cried my eyes out and have no more tears left to cry. And even then I sit there, thinking about everyone and everything that's happened.

"Wendla?" a voice jolts me out of my thoughts. That voice. That familiar voice.

I turn slowly, and though the fog, the falling night and tears, my eyes meet Melchior's tear-stained ones.


	3. Found

We gaze at each other for a minute and I am unable to take in how much he has changed, how much that place has changed him. His wild, curly hair clings with rain to his face, flattened. His arms, once strong and muscular, are scarred and bruised. Where inquisitive, gentle eyes were once set, red, tired ones now lay. His shirt is stained with dark blood and his suspenders crooked.

But he's still Melchior. He's still the boy who never believed in anything. He's still the boy who could make anything seem possible by just talking about it. He's still the boy who made me feel things I never thought I could feel.

We stare at each other more, each too scared to talk, afraid of saying too little, or too much. Slowly, his right arm extends towards me, offering his hand. I take it, and he pulls me up to my feet. His hand is rougher, yet still soft, like the last time I held it. We stand there for a minute, watching each other in the falling twilight, the only thing keeping me steady being my hand gripped on to his.

"Wendla." He whispers, breaking the silence. His left hand moves to my face, tracing each of my features, and then resting it on my hair. He pulls on a lock, clumsily running his fingers through it while still holding my hand.

We stand there like this for a minute, a million and nothing thoughts running through our minds. My hand reaches up and pushes some stray strands of hair off his forehead, burying my hands in his thick curls. This is so familiar, so warm, a feeling I haven't felt in days, weeks even. He lets go of my hand and moves it around to my waist and I put my other hand on his shoulder. He pulls me closer, and our lips meet, in a kiss of fire and ice, dancing together in perfect synch.

As we pull away, he looks at me and lets out a half-laugh, half-sob and strokes my cheek.

"I thought I'd lost you." He whispers, a small smile playing on his lips. I shake my head and he pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around my waist. I lean my hands and head on his chest and breathe in his smell of new books and rain.

"Melchi, I- I'm sorry." I whisper into his shirt. He pulls away and looks me in the eye as I continue. "I don't know how it happened but – but I'm having a child."

His smile fades a bit and the lines on his forehead become more pronounced. "I know. I read your letter."

"You got my letter?"

"Yes. Every single one."

I look down to my bare, filthy feet. "You hate me, don't you?"

I feel his hands grab both sides of my head and jerk it up to his until our faces are an inch apart. "Wendla, how could I hate you? How could I after what we did?"

I shake my head, feeling the tears coming again. "Because what we did was wrong, it was a sin, everyone said that- "

"And that's what you're going to believe? What everyone says?" He tightens his grip on my head, locking it into place. "Wendla, what we did wasn't a sin because I loved you. And I still love you, otherwise I wouldn't have come back."

"You loved me?" I ask unbelievingly.

"Yes." He stares into my eyes. "I thought of you and only you when I was at that place, it was so dark and you were my light. You still are."

I smile a bit at this. "Well, this light is slowly fading."

Melchior loosens his grip on my head and takes a step back. "I love your light." He grows a smile, a broad smile, reaching his dark eyes and making them twinkle. "Let's go!" He exclaims, grabbing my hands. "Let's go to build this new world, this world where our child can grow up without hate, without adults telling them what to do, what to love, what to know!" He strokes my cheek. "Let's go before they tell us not to."

I look up at him and take his hand, feeling it's warmth against mine, and, together, we ran into the forest, into our new world.


	4. Something Beautiful, a New Chance

And we run.

We run through the forest, our hearts pounding against our chests. My dress dirties and tears and the rain shoots at us from all angles, dripping onto us from the trees but we still run, our hands entwined with one another. And we laugh. We laugh like little children, jumping and ducking from roots and branches, our stomach beginning to hurt from the madness of the world we have entered. Then one of us trips, who I don't know, pulling the other down into a giggling heap on the floor.

"I haven't laughed like that in years." Melchior's voice is the first to break the never ending series of hysterical laughing.

"Me neither. Not since I was a little child." I roll over onto my side to look at him. Our eyes meet and his smile grows.

"We used to do things like this together, remember? We used to play pirates?" he says, chuckling a bit at the thought of it.

"I remember!" I exclaim. "You always wanted me and Ilse to be the fair maidens who you and Moritz would try and save!" I let out another laugh. "It annoyed me and Ilse to no end, we wanted to be fierce pirates too."

"Yes, I remember now." His eyes become distant. "God, we were so young. We never gave anything a second thought. We believed everything we were told."

The rain begins to slow and I look down at my curled up knees and dirty dress, playing with the hem. "It was a blissful time and age to be in, before anything mattered."

"Nothing need matter anymore, Wendla." He says, rolling onto his back. "They don't control us anymore. We are free."

"I suppose." I say, still twirling my dress through my fingers.

"You suppose?" He says and pulls me up so that my head is resting on his chest and his arm is around my shoulders. "You see that star up there?" He says softly, pointing up through a gap in the trees towards a huge bright star. "That's the North Star and if you see it, you have to make a wish on it. I saw it so many times, when we did what we did, when Moritz died, when I was at that place, and I wished on it every single time, I wished it would bring me through everything. And every time I wished on it, I felt like something else was trying to help me get to sanity, to a better place. Not… God" he scoffs "Something bigger than God, something bigger than the whole universe."

"Wow." I whisper, watching the star glow brighter and dimmer.

Melchior looks down at me and kisses me gently on the top of my head. "I want you to wish on it now and get that feeling that I always got."

"How?" I breathe, still looking at the star.

"Just think about it and ask for it."

I thought. I thought about what was yet to come. I thought about what I was to become. A mother, with Melchior by my side. I thought about my past life, a carefree child with nice dresses, plenty of friends and a sweet Mama. I had a beautiful like. I thought about something more beautiful than what I had and who I was. And then I knew what to wish for.

A new chance.

**A/N: Sorry this chapter was a bit short, I felt I needed to break the ice since their meeting and a friend of mine was telling me random stuff about stars and I got inspiration. So, please, reviews are Melchior to my Wendla!**


	5. A Home

My new life is different. It's harder, true. I never thought about how much Mama did for me and how much work it took. We have to take care of each other, take care of ourselves. Melchi helps me so much. I'm sick all the time and I get tired quicker. He says that it's because I'm with child and I believe him because I have not felt this bad in so long, not since I almost died of anemia when I was nine.

We live in the forest, sleeping by the stream, where the soil is softer and we use a scratchy blanket from a nearby barn but Melchi hates it there, he says it's no way for us to live. He goes everyday to find us a home in a nearby village and to earn a bit of money. Not our own village, we could never go back there. I wish I could go with him and I tried once but got so tired form walking with him through the woods that I had to rest. And so, everyday, I walk with him as far as I can go, picking up any chestnuts or blackberries that I can find and then sit by a tree when I can't go any further. I want to go with him so much, it's so lonely by myself.

I am in no way hungry. During the day, I feed myself things in the forest, like blackberries or apples. When Melchior goes into the village, he does odd jobs and errands for people there and always comes back with something good to eat for dinner, a loaf of bread or some boiled chicken. It's not much but it keeps us going, although not for long. I get hungrier everyday. Melchi says it's because of the child, and I suppose it makes sense, that the child needs to eat too. But I always feel guilty when Melchi passes me more of his food. He says that it's alright, that it's because I'm with child but I can't help noticing how much paler he looks. I also get bigger. Around my stomach. Just a little bit, but you can tell. Melchi says that's where the child grows and that because the child is getting bigger, my stomach does, too.

It's a different life, maybe better than the one I had with my Mama. The whole thing seems ludicrous now. I used to dance around with my friends wearing my 'fairy dress'. My fairy dress! How materialistic! I have only one dress now, let alone a fairy dress! And my shoes! I used to have so many shoes, one pink pair, one white pair, and one blue pair, every color of the rainbow! And now I don't even have one pair! But I feel freer. No one expects me to be anything, to do anything. I sit and make daisy chains or berry juice in a fragment of a bowl that I clean every day in the stream.

One day, I am sitting at the base of a tree, with my legs out in front of me, weaving long leaves together to make some sort of net. I suppose we could try and catch what fish we can in the stream with it. Suddenly, I hear a fast crunching on the leaves and see that it's Melchior, definitely a few hours earlier than he usually is. I watch him until he reaches me, pulling me up by my arms.

"What's wrong?" I ask him pushing his hair back to check for injuries. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, Wendla." He laughs slightly through his panting and his smile grows. "I found us a home!"

I stare at him unbelievingly. "Really? In the village?"

"Yes, only a franc a month, we can afford it!" He pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around what's left of my waist. "We're going to have a real home, just us two."

I smile and let out a small laugh. "What's it like?"

"Very simple. Just one room, with a bath and kitchen but it's something. There's a grate so I can keep us warm in the evenings and a pump nearby with cool water." Melchi gushes. "It's in the center of town, near a doctor, so if we ever need help with the baby, it's close and it's near a butcher and it's near… something else."

"What else?" my smile becomes inquisitive.

He laughs out loud. "Come and see!"

The village is lovely. The people are friendly and obviously know Melchior quite well, as I had a few men come up to me and ask if I was the "famous Wendla".

Melchi showed me around the places he knows about. He introduces me to some of the people he earns money from and the people he buys our food from. They all seem to know who I am and treat me with respect that I had never gotten before from anyone but Melchior.

We visit our home the last. I am surprised to see that it is a cottage, instead of the apartment that I had imagined. There is a small patch of grass surrounding the house with a few wildflowers. Melchior and I walk up the pathway and with a flick of the wrist, he flicks the door open and I know what the surprise is.

"Ilse!" I cry as my best friend pulls me into an embrace. I hold her close. "What are you doing here?"

She pulls back and I get a good look at her. Her long, flowing hair is now cut short and falls around her face, but otherwise, she looks the same. "Wendla!" She smiles widely. "I missed you so much!"

"I've missed you too! But what are you doing here?" I reply.

She laughs, but it's a hollow, angry laugh. "My parents decided that they didn't want me at home anymore and so I left and came here. I live on top of a sweet shop owned by an old lady. She's fine about me coming and going as long as I pay out my rent by working every Saturday."

"She was actually the one to find us a home." Melchior chimes in from behind me. "I saw her at the sweet shop this morning when I went to run errands and she was there. She then showed me this house."

"Oh, Ilse." I pull her into another embrace and she tightens her grip on me this time.

"Wait, Wendla" She pulls away and looks into my eyes. "Melchi says that you're with child so if you ever need any help, there's a lady who lives next door, named Frau Hoffman who says she's willing to help you in any way. You need only knock."

"Thank you, Ilse, you are an angel." I say and she smiles at me and heads for the door.

"I have to go now. The old bat said I could only be gone for an hour so I must get back. But it was lovely to see you, Wendla!" She says, heading onto the street.

"You too, Ilse!" I call after her and she jogs down the road until she turns a corner and is out of sight. Melchior walks past me and puts the burlap sack filled with our meager possessions onto the small table in the corner of the room. The room has white walls and wooden floors. A large bed with two pillows, sheets and a grey blanket is in the middle. In another corner, there is a small tub next to a blue grate and two padded chairs aligned with the table. It was sweet, not a palace, but sweet.

I walk over and sit on the bed. It's soft but still firm enough to sleep on. I lay back, stretching my arms and legs, feeling the luxury of a mattress to rest on.

"Oh, how long has it been since I have slept on a proper bed?" I wonder out loud and Melchi laughs, turning to face me."Come here." I whisper, reaching out for his hand. He lets me half-pull him to lie on his side next to me on the bed. His hand reaches behind my back, pulling me closer and kisses me. I find my hand reaching up to stroke his cheek, feeling his warmth against mine. He kisses me more, and as he kisses me, I feel myself being brought into that unknown place, the place I visited only once before, with Melchior.

**A/N Two updates in the same day! It must be Christmas! Well, this is the result of no internet and not wanting to study for my finals but please, review, and thank you to 1122 for all your lovely reviews, they are an incredible confidence booster! x**


	6. Too Far Gone

"I fly to the future, I fly to the start, of the rivers that bring love and flow from my heart!"

A girl runs up and down the street, hitting a hoop and singing this haunting song over and over again, a song that I learned in Sunday School. She must have been only eleven or twelve but she could have been seven or eight with the way I felt. I don't believe I've grown up, quite the contrary. I feel so scared all the time. Everyday something new happens, things that I can't understand.

This village is freer than my old one. Every evening, I hear the drunkards walking up and down the street, shouting to each other and laughing stupidly. It frightens me to no end, my only comfort is Melchior saying that they won't come in to the house. And then, on the main streets, I see girls my age, maybe older, selling themselves off to older men, far older men. It's horrible but they do what they have to for survival.

Melchior is apprenticing at the blacksmiths. He earns five francs a month, whereas I go and help Ilse in the sweet shop. It's a simple work, counting how many chocolates for this child, how much sugar powder for this one but I feel useful and it's nice to know that you're helping someone who can't do it all by herself.

"I wish that girl would shut her mouth." Ilse mutters, stacking up the chocolate pastries. "She runs up here every Sunday singing her stupid songs about love and cherishing your neighbors. Reminds me why I left my parents."

I laugh and lift the jar of milk up onto the counter and begin to weigh it. "So she sings all the time?"

"Yes." Ilse shudders. "Always out of tune, always so that the whole of Germany can hear her."

I laugh again and measure out seven drops of the milk and mix it to the powder sugar. I'm making cream to put on top of the cakes. This is the only cooking that I'm allowed to do, I burnt a tray of apple pies once.

"Alright, girls, enough talking." The old lady who runs the shop, Frau Legweil, step out from her perch in the back room. "I'm going to visit my sister. You all finish off those pies in the oven, put them to display and don't make a mess."

"Yes, Frau Legweil." We chime. She eyes us for a minute and turns and stalks out of the room, muttering something about silly girls. We sit in the silence for a minute before Ilse turns.

"We'd better get those pies." She says, but I stop her. For the past week, there has been something hanging in the air. She's been acting very aggressively, more than the usual Ilse. I think it might have something to do with Moritz.

"Wait." I grab her arm and she turns to look at me, eyebrows raised. "I wanted to ask you something."

"What?" she says, still eyeing me.

I let go of her arm and take a deep breath. "Did you… did you talk to Moritz before he… died?"

Ilse avoids my eyes. "Well, yes, but that's all in the past. And we have to concentrate on now and the future." She strides to the back room and I follow her.

"You don't have to do that, you know." I say. "Not with me"

She turns to me and watches me for a moment. I notice that the light in her eyes dim a bit and her face is an emotionless mask, apart from the single tear that rolls down her cheek. She looks down at her shoes and the tears come steadily.

"I keep on trying to tell myself that it wasn't my fault." She whispers through muffled sobs. "That his life was horrible and I didn't do anything. But I can't" The sobs come faster and louder and she looks up at me, her tear-stained eyes boring into mine. "It's my fault that he's dead!"she shrieks "It's my fault that he killed himself!"

"Ilse, Ilse, it's okay, come here." I take her into my arms and she sobs on my shoulder. "Tell me what happened."

I walk her over to the sofa on the far side of the room and sit down on it next to her and put my arm around her shoulders. "Tell me."

She takes a few breaths to control her mad shudders and then looks at me. "It was the night when I came back." She starts. "I was going home through the forest and I saw him there. He looked terrible, his hair was a mess and his shirt was untucked, he looked like a madman. I went and talked to him, asking him if he wanted to walk me home, I thought it might help him and make him a bit happier! But he said no, blamed it homework. And I got upset." She starts crying again. "I ran away and I went home! The next day, I heard that he had been killed and I instantly knew it was my fault! If I had just stayed, if I had just not let my temper get the better of me, he would have lived! He would have lived!" She breaks down in screaming sobs again. I pull her into my arms and let her ruin my new dress with her tears. "It haunts me! Every night, I see him looking at me angrily and I wake up screaming!"

"It's not your fault." I smother her hair down her neck. "His life had turned sour. Melchior had tried to talk to him but he was already too far gone."

"I know. But I still hate myself." She sobs into my shoulder and I pat her back and smooth her hair. And for the moment, that's all I can do.


	7. Our Hope

My heel feels like it's on fire. Well, I shouldn't be kicking it against the edge of the chair but I can't stay still. My cup of warm soup rests in my hands but I don't drink it. I feel sick again.

Ilse's words still haunt me and I can still hear her screaming and can still feel her cold tears on my dress. When I came home this evening, I cooked some beef soup on the grate fire and drank it to steady my nerves but regret it now, as I feel it may come back up at any moment. Melchior is still working, he'll be home when it's dark.

I never thought that Ilse's last conversation with Moritz was so… painful. She believes that it's all her fault and although I know it's not, I can see why she would think that. I wonder what it would be like if it was me and Melchior instead of her and Moritz and the thought of Melchior dying, me believing that it was my fault, it's too much and I break down in the sobs that I have been sitting in all day.

Melchior couldn't ever die. He's so full of life, too smart, too kind to the world. He means too much to me for me to let him ever die. No. He will never die.

I sit here, thinking these thoughts that I almost spill my soup when Melchior opens the door and walks into the room, taking off his coat as he does so. He stops when he looks at me.

"Wendla, what's wrong?" he asks, coming over kneeling on the floor by my chair. He takes a piece of cloth out of his pocket and hands it to me and I wipe my eyes gratefully. "Did something happen at the shop?"

I nod. "Ilse" I sob "She told me about her last conversation with Moritz."

Melchior's face stays still but I feel him stiffen. "She talked to him?"

"Yes" I say. "And she thinks she killed him."

Melchior stands up suddenly, looking horrified. "She killed him?" he exclaims.

"No, no!" cry, standing up and putting both hands on his face. "No. Please calm down, Melchi."

He takes a few deep breaths and then looks reasonably at peace. "Tell me what happened."

I walk over and sit him down on the bed and tell him everything. About Ilse's distance, about how Moritz acted, about their argument, about everything. At the end of it, Melchior looks shocked.

"So, she thinks that she killed him because she got angry?" Melchior asks and I nod. "But that's ridiculous! Moritz was in a bad place and no matter how much anyone tried to talk to him, he wouldn't leave!"

"I know." I say, my hands on my lap. I don't know what to do. This is a side of Melchior that I had never seen before. He was always so calm, or a tidal wave of emotions but never like this. He's pacing around the room, his hands in his face, occasionally ripping his hands through his hair. "Melchior, please sit down." I say, standing up to grab his hand.

"No!" he shouts, pulling away. I stand back, shocked.

"What's the matter with you?" I cry.

"I just!... I just…" Melchior's energy seems to have drained out and he comes back to the bed, burying his head in his hands. After a moment, he looks up and his face is apologetic. "Come here." He says holding his hand out and I take it, sitting next to him as we were just a few minutes ago. "I'm so sorry, Wendla." He whispers, burying his face in his hands. "It's just that… Oh Wendla, how did we get to this?" He raises his head and the tears from his eyes are falling steadily. "How? Moritz dead, Ilse believing that it's her fault, you with child. How?"

I have to be the strong one now that Melchior is crying. The only time I ever saw him cry like this was in the hayloft, before we did what we did.

"Melchi, listen." I say, lifting his head up and holding it between my hands. "This life, as complicated and ugly as it may be, is ours and it's our job to make it more beautiful. Think of – oh!"

I stop, clutching my stomach. Melchi stops and watches it too. I feel this strange fluttering in it, like butterflies are inside me.

"Melchi, Melchi, something's moving." I say, grabbing his hand, the other one stroking my stomach.

I look up at him worriedly but am confused to see that he is smiling, a large smile, one that reaches his eyes and makes them twinkle.

"Wendla, that's the child!" He says laughing a bit. "That's the child!"

I look down at my stomach, then back at him. "Why is it moving?"

Melchi laughs again. "It's meant to move!"

"Oh, wow." I look down again and put my hand over the part where I feel it. And then again, against my hand, a squirming feeling against my palm. I look up again at Melchior. "I want you to feel it." I say, picking up his hand and putting it on my abdomen. A little line appears across his forehead as he concentrates and disappears as quickly as it came.

"I feel it!" He whispers, looking at me. "I can feel our child, Wendla."

I smile and stroke his cheek. "You see? There might still be some hope for our lives. Our child is our hope."


	8. America

Ever since we felt the child move, everything has changed. Melchior insists that I go to the doctor who lives down the road, just so that I can be checked for any issues when I give birth. I asked him about the stork and he gave me a strange look. The explanation that I understood was that, where it starts is where it ends and he said it started with what we did. So, Melchior took me to see him on Sunday and he said that I will give birth in three months.

Three months! It seems so soon, yet so far off. I feel like there's not enough time, and yet I can't wait until I see the child. Melchior says that he or she will look like the both of us. If it's a boy, I want him to look like Melchior, especially his eyes and smile. Meanwhile, I'm getting bigger and it gets harder to walk to the sweet shop every day. Melchi buys me extra meat and bread in the evenings because I eat so much more. If I have to have three more months of this, I will be exhausted by the time the child arrives.

Melchior passes me another slice of bread, and I soak it in the sauce that the rabbit meat has made as it cooked.

"How was Ilse today?" Melchi asks, taking a sip of water.

I shrug. "She was fine, I suppose that she just had to talk about it. There's still something there, you can feel it."

Melchi nods. "It must be a difficult thing to come through, we can't expect her to just accept it straight away"

I nod and we sit in another pool of silence. I poke my food with my fork, playing for time until Melchi suddenly sits up.

"Wendla." He says, grabbing my hand and looking into my eyes with his. "I was thinking today and I was talking to some of the other men down at the blacksmith's. I found out that there's a ship leaving in five month's time. To America." Be breaths, exhilarated. I stare at him until I figure it out.

"We could go?" I ask suddenly, gaping at him. "To America?"

"Yes" Melchi's smile is spread all over his face making his beautiful eyes shine. "They will take you and our child if I help on the ship, it's not a hard job, I will get paid twenty francs and it's a free passage to America!" He exclaims, clutching my hand. "The child will have come by then and we can build our new world for him or her, away from our old one!"

"Oh, Melchi, that's amazing!" I cry and he pulls me into an embrace. "It'll be wonderful! Our new world! America!" I'm so thrilled by all of this and he tightens his grip on me. He pulls away and puts a hand on my cheek, pulling me closer for a kiss and as his lips touch mine, as they move together in a rhythmic harmony, I realize that this is what I want. To be with Melchi, to have our beautiful child, to go to America!

It is now my dream.


	9. Ilse

"Girl, bring me that jar!" Frau Langweil barks at me from behind the counter. I roll my eyes at Ilse, who suppresses a smile and I pick up the small jar of milk. Frau Langweil has long stopped trying to remember our names and just calls 'girl' vaguely in our direction. Ilse just laughs but it's starting to really get under my skin. Actually, most things are starting to get under my skin. Mechi says that the baby makes my mood change a lot, as I have been ecstatically happy one minute, then crying for no real reason the next. Meanwhile, the child moves so much more, I'm sure that my abdomen is going to be very bruised by the time he or she comes.

"Hurry up!" she snaps, wiping her spectacles on a rag. I pull the jar off the shelf and stagger a bit as I am thrown off balance at how heavy it is. It can't have weighed more than a kilogram but for all I knew, it must have weighed far more. I shuffled it over to her counter and placed it on the top with a loud thunk.

"God in Heaven, girl, are you trying to wake the dead?" she shakes her head and goes back to her notebook. I grit my teeth and stalk over to Ilse who is weighing sugar cubes.

"Doesn't she realize that I'm trying my best?" I whisper loudly to her, leaning against the table.

Ilse grins and shakes her head. "Don't let it get to you."

I exhale sharply and put a hand on my stomach, where I can feel another little movement starting. "Ilse!" I whisper, grabbing her hand and putting on my stomach. "Can you feel that?"

Ilse's face is a mask of concentration as she feels my abdomen until it lights up and she laughs out loud. "The child!" she cries "It's moving! Oh, Wendla, that's incredible!"

I laugh. "It does that a lot nowadays."

Ilse looks up at me, taking her hands off my stomach. "How much longer until we can see her?"

"The doctor said two months." I reply. "And how do you know that it's going to be a girl?"

Ilse winks at me. "I have a suspicion. Oh, Wendla, I can't wait to see her!"

"Girls!" The ogre barks at us. "Stop talking, back to your chores! You!" she cries, pointing at Ilse. "You need to do a delivery! Take this parcel and deliver it to this address and don't take too long!" she snaps and Ilse sighs and takes the parcel.

"I'll come round the cottage in the evening to visit you two." She says, pulling me into an embrace and planting a kiss on my cheek. "Goodbye." She smiles one last time, pushes the door open and jumps out onto the street. I watch her go and finish her task of weighing the sugar cubes.

Melchi and I spend our evenings preparing for America. He also managed to find an extra place for Ilse so she visits us in the evenings when we've finished our supper and we go over plans, imagine where we're going to live and talk about working. Melchi bought a storybook which has the stories in both German and English so we learn what vocabulary we can. Ilse also talks about the child, in fact, it's her favorite topic.

I finally feel like everything in my life is turning around. I have Melchi and Ilse by my side, my child is coming and we're going to America! America! Just the thought of it sends shivers down my spine.

I worriedly glance at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Five o'clock. Ilse left an hour ago. Why isn't she back?

"Is that the time then?" Frau Langweil murmurs. "You'll have to be on your way then, girl. I have no clue where the other one has gone, she'll find her supper stone cold when she comes back."

"Thank you, Frau Langweil." I mutter, putting my work down, grabbing my shawl and leaving the shop in record time. I hobble out through the streets, the cold evening air cutting through my skin like a knife. I finally get back and set my shawl down. I walk over to the table and open up the storybook to _Hansel and Gretel_ and begin reciting out loud in my terrible English.

"Sie hinterließen eine Spur aus Brotkrumen als sie spazieren gingen, in der Hoffnung, dass sie in der Lage sein, ihr zu folgen wieder nach Hause. Aber es nützte nichts. Sie wurden verloren."

Sie wurden verloren. They were lost. That line always haunted me. I know what it's like to feel lost, we all do. Wandering through a forest, through your own world, with nowhere to go.

The door opens without warning and Melchior bursts in, looking flustered.

"Melchi, what's wrong?" I ask, standing up and walking over to him.

"I have to go, Wendla, there's been an accident on one of the roads, someone's been hurt. I have to help" he breathes, picking up his coat and heading to the door.

"Wait, Melchi, who?" I call after him.

"I'll find out, and I'll be back as soon as I can." He says planting a kiss on my cheek and running out the door, down the street, where many other men are sprinting, their spare coats in hand. I watch him go until he turns a corner and is out of sight.

Road accidents are so commonplace in this village. Usually they are between to drunkards on their horses and it's all resolved with a pat on the back and the proposition of playing a round of poker as an apology, so it must be a really bad if many people are going to help out. I sit back down and go back to reciting _Hansel and Gretel___until, no more than ten minutes later, the door is thrown open and it's Melchi again. His face is white and his forehead is beaded with sweat, he looks as if he's seen a ghost.

"Wendla." He looks at me for a moment but I already know. "It's Ilse."

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Please, God, if you're really up there, please not Ilse.

**A/N: What's happened to Ilse? Find out in the next chapter of Spring and Summer, a Spring Awakening fanfiction! And about the German in that chapter being called English, I was having a hard time to figure out how I should portray English and so I chose German, sorry if there are any mistakes, I put it through Google Translate!**


	10. Not Gone

**A/N: You are all going to HATE me for what I do here, but I couldn't help it! All I know is that my mother cried when she read this chapter and she hates SA so I can't have messed up too bad!**

* * *

I stare at him a moment, unable to comprehend what he's saying.

"Oh, Wendla." He wraps his arms around me. "She was making a delivery and got hit by a carriage with no driver."

I'm numb as I say "Is she…"

"She's alive." Melchi replies and his words make my blood run cold. "But not for long."

"I have to go" I hear myself saying and I tear away from him and sprint as fast as I can down the road. I feel out of breath after just a few meters but I don't stop. I have to see her. My heart pounds in my chest as I run, throwing people out of the way until I find the street. There's a large crowd of people gathered around a spot in the road and there's a trickle of dark liquid running down the road. Blood. Dear God, there's blood.

"Get out of the way!" I shriek shoving my way through the crowd, taking advantage of the fact that I'm larger than normal. I finally reach her, and she's lying on her back, with a few coats piled on top of her. A deep cut is etched into her forehead and it's liberally oozing deep red blood. And her eyes are closed.

"ILSE!" I scream and fight off the restraining arms that try to stop me and crouch next to her. "Ilse, wake up." I say desperately, shaking her. Her eyes open slowly and her mouth curves slowly into a small smile.

"Wendla." She murmurs, slowly taking my hand. I clutch it with all my might.

"Ilse, stay with me." I whisper, holding her hand up to my heart. "You're going to be okay."

She shakes her head but her smile still stays. "I hoped I would see her." She says, moving her hand down to my stroke my stomach. "She's going to be beautiful."

I start to sob, the drops landing on my dress and her hand. "No, Ilse, you're going to be okay." I cry.

She puts her hand up to stroke my cheek and a tear escapes her eye and rolls to join the pool of blood. "Wendla, don't worry about me. I'm with Moritz now." She turns her head to look at the darkening sky and begins to sing, a song I heard her sing before. "I believe, all will be forgiven." She suddenly turns back to me with a cheeky smile. "Wendla, do you remember how we all used to play pirates? Me, you Moritz and Melchi?"

I let out another sob and clutch her hand. "I remember."

She lets out a small laugh and turns back up to the sky and finishes her song. "I believe, there is love in heaven… I believe."

Her voice dies away and her eyes shut slowly. I sit up and shake her hand fiercely. "Ilse! ILSE, DON'T GO! ILSE! ILSE, STAY WITH ME! ILSE, DON'T LEAVE! ILSE!" I scream, shaking her more and more, but it's no use. She's gone.

"Come, child, away from there, you're distraught." A hand grabs my arm but I shake it off.

"We have to move the body." A man's voice says, as another hand reaches out to try and lift her up but I lash out.

"DON'T TOUCH HER!" I shout at the man. I lean down to Ilse's face and plant a kiss on her bleeding forehead. "I love you, Ilse." I whisper through my shaking sobs. "I will never forget you." I feel another hand on my shoulder, but I know this hand. I let him guide me to my feet and he pulls me into his arms. I sob uncontrollably into Melchior's shoulders until I taste something metallic in my mouth. Blood. Ilse's blood. Horrified with it, I pull away from him and vomit on the side of the street, shaking with fury and disgust.

"Here." Melchi passes me a wet rag and I wipe my mouth with it. "Come, we should go home. We'll visit tomorrow." He says, taking my hand and leading me away from the crowd.

I try to stop, but the tears keep on falling. Why Ilse? Why? Haven't we suffered enough? Why Ilse? She was so strong, so brave, always brave enough for herself, always brave enough for everyone else. Dear God, why Ilse?

And now I know that all that Melchior said about God not existing is true.

Because if God existed, he wouldn't have taken Ilse.

We finally reach the cottage and Melchi opens the door for me, putting his coat onto the table and setting me to lie on the bed. He then turns to the grate and tries to light a fire with one of our matches, though his hands are shaking so much that he barely makes a spark. In the end, he gives up and comes to lie next to me on the bed, putting his arms around me and I let the tears flow steadily into his shirt.

"Melchi – why her? Why?" I murmur into his shoulder. "She was such a wonderful person, so full of life…. Why her?"

"I know." Melchi whispers, rocking me back and forth in his arms. "I know."

"Why couldn't it have been me?" I say, louder than I expected. Melchior pulls me away to look me in the eye, daring me to say more. "Why her, when he could have taken me and it would have made no difference to anyone!"

He stares at me a moment before he puts his hands on my shoulders. "Wendla, never say that again." He whispers in a shaky voice. "Never say anything like that again!" He almost shouts, sitting up on the bed. "Wendla, it would kill me if it were you!" he shouts, standing up and looking at me. "You leaving me, it scares me too much to think about, never say anything like that again! Please Wendla" He stops before sitting back on the bed with his head in his hands, shudders rippling through his body. He raises his head and his eyes are bloodstained red. And as he pulls his knee up to wrap his arms around, he looks like that boy I once remember, that boy in the hayloft.

Perhaps we are there right now and I am still that girl in the hayloft, with no way to handle things.

"Melchi, I'm so sorry." I say, crawling over to him and putting my hand on his shoulder. "I love you, Melchi, I didn't want to hurt you."

He turns his head slowly, his eyes boring into mine. "You love me?"

"Yes." My voice is stronger than I expected it to be.

He looks back at his knee. "I suppose I could say that I loved you back." He shakes his head. "But it's not enough, it will never be enough." He turns to kneel on the bed in front of me. "Wendla, I will never leave you behind. You have meant so much to me ever since we were in the hayloft together. I couldn't imagine life without you, I don't remember life before you. I heard some men who left women when they found out they were having a child but I would never do that. I want to stay with you, have this child with you, go to America with you, grow old with you, die, with you holding my hand. Love" He scoffs. "Love is something made up by religious people, something to try and make us feel things. But I never feel anything when I say it. But I feel something when I look at you, something stronger than any 'love'. That's all I know." He finishes.

We watch each other for a moment, not quite sure what to say or do. Then in one swift movement, my arms are around his neck and his head is resting on my breast, as it did all those months before. We were children then, sitting in a hayloft, not quite understanding what was happening, not quite caring. How much we had grown.

"Wendla, I hear your heart beat." Melchi says from beneath me and tears begin running down my face again. He looks up at me, shocked. "Why are you crying?" He asks.

I shake my head. "I remember it, every minute of it and it was a nicer time, when we had Ilse and Moritz and our friends and… and…" My sobs are muffled by his shirt as he pulls me to rest my head against his chest.

"Hush, don't cry, Wendla." He rocks me back and forth like I'm a child with a scraped knee. " We were prisoners back then. You're here with me now and that's all I need." I erupt in another fit of crying and he hold me closer. "Wendla, Ilse and Moritz are still here with us. They're not gone. Not gone. Not gone." He repeats this, rocking me back and forth until I fall into a troubled sleep into Melchi's arms.


	11. Blue Wind

The gravel crunches under my feet as I slowly march towards the forest. The only thing keeping me upright is Melchi's arm wound through mine.

Ilse always said that she wanted to stay in the forest forever. She said that it was her solitude, her one place to think.

I am wearing a long black dress, specially tailored by the lady next door, Frau Hoffman, to fit my protruding abdomen. She made it for me for no charge as she knew Ilse and spoke to her several times when Ilse went to deliver cakes to her many children.

Melchi walks beside me. He's wearing a black coat over his work clothes and his face is white, ashen, as it has been the whole morning.

I see the gathering. There are many purple flowers, they were Ilse's favorite, and she called them Purple Summers.

I hadn't prepared myself for the number of people that would be there. The butcher, who said that Ilse used to buy his chicken every Sunday. The greengrocer, who said that Ilse had once helped her clean up a spilled basket of tomatoes. Frau Langweil, who said that she was always fond of Ilse and is sad to see her go.

Yes, they are all sad to see her go.

We join the crowd and are greeted with sad looks and sympathetic smiles. I have been getting smiles like that for the whole week, I'm starting to get sick of it. Melchi is the only one who doesn't look like me like that.

He went down there every day for the past week to help dig the grave. The hole in the ground is so big, several coffins could fit in it.

The service starts and people stand up one by one to reminisce about Ilse. Funny stories, sad stories, insignificant stories made special by Ilse.

Melchi goes to speak and talks about how we used to all play together and how she grew up with us and was an inspiration to everyone. He talked about her hardships but also her never dying strength. By the end of the speech, he wipes his eyes and comes back to hold my hand.

I would cry, but I can't. I've done so much crying over the past few days that I can't do any more.

They open the coffin and we each put a Purple Summer in. I look at her for a moment. She looks so peaceful, so lovely. Her shoulder length hair is decorated with soft white flowers and she's wearing a long white nightgown. Her face is composed into a simple smile and the cut that was so confidently bleeding is now a faint scar. I take my Purple Summer and put it in her hands. So cold, like marble.

I walk away slowly and stand by Melchior as we watch them lower the box into the ground. There's a moment of silence before Melchi and the other men throw the dirt back into the hole.

Everyone walks home slowly, except me. I sit there and watch the place where her body went down, perhaps hoping that she might come back up.

The last breezes of summer blow by, making my hair fly behind me. Ilse would call this type of breeze 'blue wind', to show the end of a time, the beginning of another. Autumn will be here soon, showing the end of a summer. The yellowing leaves on the trees rustle and a few fall, scattering onto her resting place.

This forest, this place, a place of bliss. A safe haven. I know now why Ilse called it her solitude.

Now she can be in the forest forever.

* * *

**A/N I know this chapter is a bit all over the place and very short but so were Wendla's thoughts when Ilse died. So, RIP Ilse 3**


	12. Dreams

No, no this can't be happening.

Where am I? It's cold, so cold here, eyes are watching me. Someone is screaming. Melchi.

No, no, stop screaming, Melchi. Another scream, two this time. Ilse and Moritz.

Where are they? I can't find them and the eyes keep on watching me.

I tear through the dark, empty nothingness, trying to find the source of these frightening noises.

I'm running, running, running, running…

I sit up in bed, screaming my head off. Melchi jumps up next to me, looking alarmed.

"Wendla, what's wrong?" he asks, rubbing his eyes.

I sigh and lie back. "Another dream."

He smiles a small smile and lies back onto his side too. "This is the fourth in a row." He says, brushing the hair from my face. "Are you sure you're feeling well?"

I nod my head. "I'm fine. It's Ilse. She still haunts me."

Melchi doesn't move, his face growing concerned. "Wendla, that was more than a month ago. It's not that that's giving you the dreams."

'Perhaps it's the child then, I don't know!" I exclaim, exasperated.

Melchior shakes head, looking at me. "You're lonely. It's all very well and good you talking to me but you need to talk to other girls as well. I wonder…" he trails off, turning to lie on his back.

"You wonder what?" I say, propping myself up onto my side, despite the painful protests my large abdomen makes.

He turns back to me excitedly. "Wendla, let's go back to our village!"

I stare it him for a minute, wondering what has crept into his head through his ear. "Melchi… we can't go back, we're outcasts. I would be forced to go back to my Mama. And you would be sent back to that place."

He shakes his head. "No, we can stay in the forest, like we first did! I've needed to go back there to get some things from my parent's house and you can see Anna or Martha. I'll swear them to secrecy."

I nod, but a thought still bugs me. "And if an adult finds out?"

Melchior shrugs. "They find out and we run. I could carry you, and we come back here."

I laugh. "Melchi, this is crazy!"

He laughs too. "Which is exactly why we need to do it, to get rid of the melancholy in our lives."

I smile. "Yes, let's do it!"


	13. Reunited

The grass tickles my feet as I walk along the forest floor with Melchi, shoes in hand. Summer has gone by completely, leaving the trees fiery tones of red and yellow and I regularly find orange leaves in my hair. The breeze lets more leaves and other debris fall over the grass.

We must be close to the village now. I can see the stream that I used to sit by and I can hear the bells signaling the end of another Sunday School at the church.

It's so nice to be able to walk freely in the forest, how I used to do so often. I cannot, however I try, deny that I miss those times. When I didn't have to worry about eating enough, or if we will be able to pay the rent on the cottage, or doing my chores at the sweet shop by myself, without Ilse beside me, laughing and joking.

I also came up with a resolution last night. I will tell my child everything there is to know. I never knew it and I paid heavily for it. I wouldn't change anything though. I love my life and I love Melchi and nothing will change that. I also love this child, even though I haven't seen him or her yet. The world seems to be brighter, more wonderful, the more I walk through it.

Melchi stops suddenly and turns to me. "Are you sure you want to do this?" He asks.

I nod. "Let's do it for the both of us."

He smiles. "You look so beautiful, do you know that?"

I look at him skeptically. "No, I don't. I'm so tired, I look anything but beautiful."

He shakes his head, still smiling. "You're shining. You look so amazing."

I roll my eyes. "Come on, let's go."

He grins and we walk to the back of the church. All the children will be getting out now, eager to tell their parents about all the new things they'd learnt, to play with their friends and to have a nice warm supper and a sweet dessert. I used to be one of them. Not anymore.

Melchi goes round to observe the streaming flow of children. He suddenly jumps and charges in. I watch in anticipation until he comes round with a very dumbstruck Anna.

"Anna!" I squeal and walk (well, I more waddle like a duck) towards her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders. She pauses and waits a few seconds before slowly putting her harm around my protruding waist. I pull away to look at her. She hasn't changed at all. Her wild curly hair is still in two bunches and she still has those piercing eyes that make you feel like she's looking straight into your soul.

"W-what are you d-doing here?" She asks slowly. "Everyone thought that you'd been kidnapped!"

I sigh. "I couldn't stay, Anna. I couldn't."

She suddenly turns her face down to look at my abdomen. "What's wrong with… your…"

I laugh at this. "I'm having a child, Anna, isn't it wonderful!"

"A… a child?" She looks really bewildered now.

"Yes."

"Anna, you cannot tell anyone that you've seen us, do you understand?" Melchi says, putting his hand on her shoulder. She nods, her mouth hanging open. "I'm sorry, Wendla, I have to go, before my parents get back to their house." He says, throwing his back over his shoulder.

"Good luck." I say, leaning up to plant a kiss on his lips.

He smiles and touches my cheek. "Beautiful." He whispers before darting round the church and disappearing out of sight.

I turn to Anna. "Where are Martha and Thea?"

Her face falls. "Thea… Thea stopped coming to Sunday School."

"Why? And what happened to Martha?"

"Martha... I think Martha had had enough. Her father, school, you and Melchior leaving and then her father announced that she was to be married to one of his friends when she turned sixteen and… Thea found her floating in the river, face down." Anna looks down at her feet. I am shocked at what I'm hearing.

"She… drowned?"

Anna looks up angrily. "That's what the grown-ups said. But I think she did it on purpose. Oh, Wendla, she was so angry her last few days, screaming about it and there was nothing I could have done! I so wanted to help her, but…" She looks back down, scuffing her shoe on the gravel.

"And Thea?"

"Martha and Thea had had a fight. Thea was tired of Martha being upset and started shouting at her. Then, days later, when she found Martha in the stream, she went and told her Mama and we haven't seen her since. She stays in her room all day, refusing to talk to everyone but her Mama."

I look down too. "Like Ilse."

Anna perks her head up at this. "Ilse? Have you seen her?"

I stiffen and nod slowly. "She was in the village that Melchi and I live in now."

"How is she?" Anna jumps up on her toes, clasping her hands.

I watch her. She looks so happy, so relieved. "She's fine. She was working and couldn't come today." My voice is choked with the lie.

Anna's face falls a little. "Oh, well, at least I have you!" She grabs my hand and pulls me towards the stream in the forest. "Wendla, it's so nice to see you again, it's been so lonely! I talk to Otto a lot, though. He misses Martha too and we actually have a lot in common. In fact…" she giggles. "I think I want to marry him!"

I laugh. "I remember how you used to want to marry Melchior!"

She rolls her eyes. "I was so much younger then, but Otto is so wonderful, always laughing and smiling! And anyway, I would have no hope with Melchior because he's so in love with you!" She gently pokes my stomach. "Do you think you might marry him?"

I stop. I've never actually thought about marrying Melchior. So much seemed to be happening all at once, trying to survive off the forest, finding a home, Ilse. It had never occurred to me.

"I don't know." I say, putting my hands behind my back like I used to. "We're going to America when the child comes so we might get married there, but I suppose we just never had the idea."

"I think you should." She says, looking up at the sky. "It would be so romantic! You could have a party in America and you could wear a beautiful dress and there can be dancing and your child could be there… Oh, Wendla, if you get married, invite me!"

I laugh. "Of course I will, Anna. And I'll invite Otto, and you can have a special dance with him!"

She giggles and turns to face me. "I've missed you so, Wendla. I can barely believe you're here!"

"Me neither." My voice is raspy and I fear I might cry.

The bells ring again and Anna looks up suddenly. "Oh, no! It's three o'clock, Mama will want me home! I have to go!"

"Alright." I say and she wraps her arms around my neck.

"it's been amazing seeing you, Wendla, and I hope I can see you again?" She looks at me with a small smile.

"Absolutely!" I say and she giggles and runs back through the trees to the church, waving to me as she goes. I see her corner and run off towards her houses.

I suddenly realize that I'm alone. I'm so alone. I need to go somewhere else, not this big, empty forest.

And suddenly I know where to go.


	14. The Hayloft

I'm here. I'm finally here.

The barn looks almost identical to when I last saw it. There's Tissie, the cow, who my mother used to buy a pint of milk from every week. There are the buckets, lined up elegantly on the wall, next to the brushes. And there's the rope, opening up the ladder to the hayloft.

I've needed to come here for months now and now that I'm here, I feel better. This is the place that I ever felt the closest to someone in my life, to Melchi.

I slowly walk over to the rope and pull on it and the ladder falls accordingly. I put both hands on either side of the ladder and hoist myself up, holding tighter when it shudders at my new weight. I have to lean back a bit to accommodate my large stomach but I'm able to slowly shimmy up and I collapse on my back onto the soft hay.

Ouch. What was that? I grip my abdomen, sitting up suddenly. The child had moved several times and sometimes I got cramps but never like this. Another pain ripples through my body and I fall back with a sharp inhalation. I feel like I'm being ripped in half!

I shuffle back, so that my legs are totally in the hayloft and hold my stomach. The horrible pain has stopped but there's still another feeling, a burning sensation all over my stomach.

What's happening? Melchior never said anything about this. Another pain and this one is so bad that I cry out, rolling over to my side with my arms wrapped around my front.

Mechi? Melchi where are you? I need you now, what's happening? Melchi?

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**A/N Sorry for the long wait and short chapter but I've already written like half of the next chapter, so you'll see it very soon, promise! But please, review and if you want to, suggest an ending because I have one planned but I'm worried that you won't like it, so please! x**


	15. Blue Night

**A/N THIS CHAPTER IS TOLD FROM MELCHIORS POINT OF VIEW. PLEASE UNDERSTAND THAT IT IS MELCHIOR NARRATING THIS, NOT WENDLA. kays, thank youu! x**

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**(MELCHIOR POV)**

Where are those documents? I have been looking for an hour now but I can't find them. My birth certificate, my school papers, we need them all for our trip to America. Wendla's were easy enough to find, her mother kept them all in her old bedroom. My mother? Not so organized.

I rifle through my mother's old desk for the hundredth time. She's going to come home and think that she's been burgled. Well, she has been, but I doubt she's ever going to think that it's by her own son.

I also notice that I only see my mother's possessions, no signs of my father. I wonder if he's left. I wonder if she made him leave. I then realize that I don't care.

I pull out an old book and underneath is just what I've been looking for, a case with "Melchior" scratched into it. Mama took me aside one day and told me that if I ever needed something, a document maybe, this is where to look. I peer inside and it has everything, good enough to get a job in America. It will be easy enough, I can weld and I'm strong. I'm most scared about being accepted. In Germany, in that village, two teenagers trying to bring up a child isn't uncommon, but in America? How would they react to me, fifteen years old, trying to get work to support a fourteen year old girl and our child?

I shudder and pull it out of the drawer and with one swift movement, the window is open again and I'm out of the house, running back towards the church, where I'm meeting Wendla.

I also worry about Wendla. She's so fragile, she always has been, and the pregnancy is just an added strain to her. I hope that she can get through the trip with a child in her arms that's depending on her and only her. Of course, I will help with anything that I can, but a mother to a child is like water to a growing plant. Necessary and vital.

I also think about my future with Wendla, how we'll cope. I constantly wonder if I should marry her because we're having the child but marriage is a way of the church, a way of formally joining a man and a woman. We are not man and woman, we are still children and I don't feel that I have to marry her to stay with her. Because I would never abandon her, come hell or high water.

I sit on the ground to wait for her and open my case. As I do, another book falls to the floor. My journal. I smile and flip it open to a random page.

_The question is: shame. What is its origin? And why are we hounded by its miserable shadow? Does the mare feel shame as she couples with a stallion? Are they deaf to everything their loins are telling them until we grant them a marriage certificate? I think not. To my mind, shame is nothing but a product of education. Meanwhile, old Father Kahlbach still blindly insists in every single sermon that it's "deeply rooted in our sinful human nature." Which is why I now refuse to go to church._

How philosophical I was! I still think of myself as a thinker but I never thought that I was as flamboyant as this. Perhaps when we go to America, I should be a writer. But it isn't a practical job, it doesn't pay much and I don't speak good English. Still, the possibilities are endless. America! I get a shiver whenever I think about it. It'll be good for the both of us to get away from Germany and its memories.

The church clock chimes six o'clock and I look around. Where's Wendla? We were supposed to meet here are five thirty. I hope she hasn't gotten lost somewhere. But then, how could she? She's lived here since she was a swaddled child.

A thought crosses my mind and my stomach tightens. What if an adult has found her? They'll make her go home to her mother, then what? She would be forced to go into severe confession with Father Kahlbach and they'll take our child away from her. Our child. God knows what would happen to our child.

My breathing rapids and I glance around at the blue night beginning to fall. She can't have been found. It can't happen. But where could she be?

I raise my head slowly.

The hayloft.


	16. Pain

**A/N THIS CHAPTER IS FROM WENDLA'S POINT OF VIEW, NOT MELCHIOR'S LIKE THE LAST ONE WAS, K?**

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**(WENDLA POV)**

The pain is unbearable.

I grip onto the hay, pulling it up, then letting go. My breathing is faster and I thrash around, like I'm a child with a bad dream. I get the pains more often and far stronger than before.

How long has it been? An hour at least, maybe two. The golden afternoon light that has been shining in through the barn door has turned darker and now I can vaguely see the darkness of night.

Another pain. I let out a sob and roll over onto my side and clutch my stomach but this pain is different. As I turn, I feel wetness everywhere. It feels like someone has thrown warm water all over my legs and dress.

Another pain. I cry out in anguish. Mama, why didn't you tell me about growing up and babies, maybe it wouldn't hurt so much!

Another pain. Ilse, why did you have to leave us, leaving me and Melchior alone to look after the child?

Another pain. Moritz, why did you leave Melchior when he needed a friend the most?

Another pain. Martha, why did your life have to turn so sour that you felt you had to leave the world to feel better?

Another pain. Thea, why do you lock yourself away and refuse to speak to anyone, even your best friends?

Another pain. Anna, why didn't you do anything to help the both of them, why did you let both of them suffer like that?

Another pain. Melchior, where are you? Where are you?

That's it. I can't take it anymore, so I follow my instincts. I pull off my undergarments and lie on my back with my knees up. And I push.

I push and push and push. I don't know why I'm pushing, it's just what my body tells me to do.

The pain around my stomach leaves me but instead turns to pain between my legs.

I push and I can feel more wetness, all over my legs and dress. I can feel something else too.

I cry as the pain intensifies and I pull out the hay from the stacks around me. It feels like I'm being ripped in half. The tears keep streaming down my face but I don't wipe them away.

I put my hand down to where it hurts and am horrified to find that there's blood.

I start to panic. Is this bad for me? Is it bad for the child? The child, my child, our child. Will this kill him or her? No, I have to protect my child. It can kill me, but it can't kill my child.

I push more, longing for it to stop, longing for the pain to subside and for the bliss to fall over me again. I long to be back in the cottage, lying next to Melchi, listening to his stories about the blacksmith and telling him about the sweet shop.

I'm pushing, pushing, pushing. It hurts so much, I feel like I am being burned. I cry out and fall back, running my fingers angrily though my hair.

Then it stops. An eerie silence fills the barn.

And then a scream.

It's not my scream, and I sit up and look around to find the source.

And I find it. My child.

I sit up and look at it. Red, little and screaming. This child doesn't look like the perfect, clean babies that my sister used to bring in. Its little fingers bend and flex, as if they're looking for something and his mouth is a little 'o', crying for all it's worth. I watch it for a minute, utterly terrified of it. Slowly, I extend an arm and put my finger to touch one of its hands. It grips on and throws my arm around in a confused motion.

I reach out with my other arm and stroke its tiny head. It has a few dark brown hairs that I can feel. I bend forward and pick it up, wrapping my arms around its chest. I grab my discarded shawl and wrap it around its body, arms included. I slowly put it in the crook of my elbow and stroke its stomach with my finger.

This is my child. Half me, half Melchior. So small, yet so important, just as important as anyone else. Perhaps even more.

And so I sit there, with my child in my arms, holding her tight.

Holding my beautiful little girl tight.

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**A/N So there it is! So many updates in one day but I had a lot of free time today (in other words, a lot of time that was meant to be for studying, so this is the good result of a hard work's procrastination!) Tell me what you thought and review! and please also think of an ending for me, as I'm not sure about ending it! x**


	17. Perfect

**(MELCHIOR POV)**

I'm running, running, running. I pass houses quickly, ignoring shouts of protest when I knock people over.

I need to get to the barn. I need to find Wendla and find a place to stay with her. I finally find my house and am surprised to find that a light is on. I stop and look through the window.

Mama. Sitting there, reading a book. She doesn't look like the calm, collected woman that I once knew, her hair is a tidy mess, her clothes are crumpled and her eyes are tired. But it's her. I stare at her for a moment, completely distracted.

Should I go and see her? Tell her that I'm alive and well and so is Wendla? Tell her that her only grandchild is due any day?

I can't. She'll tell the other mothers and they'll be looking for us in no time. I quickly speed past the house, down the little pebble road wand there it is.

The majestic barn. Our pirate ship. It's red walls are now a faded grey and the roof is cracked, in desperate need of repair, but it's still standing. Wendla would be in here.

I dart round to the door and slowly open it wider. The rope for the hayloft is out and the ladder is down.

"Wendla?" I call out, hovering in the door way. There's a silence. I run towards the ladder and hoist myself up and get over the railing.

"Melchi." I hear a whisper behind me and I turn and see Wendla, lying on her back, with blood all over her dress and a bundle of rags in her arm.

"Wendla, are you alright?" I crawl over to her head and stroke her hair away from her forehead. God, she's burning with fever. She smiles at me sadly.

"Melchi, look, our child has come." She says, looking down at the rags in her arm. I peer over and see that indeed, through the grey fabric, there's a little red face, blissfully asleep.

My child. My own perfect thing. What I have been praying to for the past few months. My child.

"Wow." I whisper, reaching down to stroke its cheek. Its opens its eyes a moment, then falls back asleep. "Our child."

"Our little girl." I hear Wendla say.

A daughter. I have a daughter now.

I look at Wendla excitedly but her face is concocted with pain.

"Wendla, you're hurt!" I cry, jumping up and crawling down the ladder. I grab one of the pails and go to the pump in the corner of the barn and pump the pail full of water. I run to the trapdoor and throw the bucket up there, pulling myself up next.

"Melchi, I'm fine." She says, trying to get up, but falters and ends up on her back again.

"No you're not." I say, crawling over to her with the pail. I easily rip off the bottom of my white shirt and soak it in the water. I squeeze out any excess water and dab it on her warm forehead. She sighs a bit at the coolness and I fold it so that it can lie as a flat rectangle on her forehead. I then gently reach out and pluck the child out of her arms. She's so light, yet her weight is significantly heavy, it makes her more real. Peeling off the shawl, I rip off another part of my shirt and dip it in the water to wipe over her and wash her down a bit.

I can't believe that she's here. When Wendla was expecting her, she seemed so distant, so unreal. But to hold her, to feel her breathing against my arm, it's the most incredible feeling I've ever felt.

She has Wendla's eyes, you can tell that straightaway. I take the cloth and wipe it gently against the top of her head, then use my sleeve to dry it. Her hair springs up in a few little curls, like mine does but it's darker, like Wendla's. She has my nose but Wendla's mouth and jaw. She's so beautiful. The most perfect thing I've ever seen.

"Wendla, she's… she's…" I stammer.

"Perfect." Wendla finishes for me.

I smile slowly and go to lie next to Wendla on the hay, tucking the child into my coat to keep warm. Wendla watches her sleep.

"She looks like you, you know." She croaks, her voice husky.

I shake my head. "She has your eyes."

Wendla laughs. "I hoped she would have yours." She shrugs. "Either way, she's beautiful." Wendla sighs, content and closes her eyes in a sleep. I lay back on the hay, my little girl in arms. She's warm and is straight asleep on my chest. I can feel her little chest growing and shrinking and her little fingers pinch my shirt.

I wonder if it's possible to love a person when you first meet them. To get to the point that you would do anything for them, do anything to save them. But I know now, I would protect this sweet little girl with my life. She's the one thing in my life that I did right, she's everything that perfection should be.

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**A/N Here it is! I'm not sure how I'll go about with the story now because I had the perfect ending planned but now people are saying not to do it, so I'm gonna have to rethink some things. I got a little teary while writing this, as I did with the last chapter, so I did some math studying, listened to "The Song of Purple Summer" and cried myself to sleep :( I felt like a child of mine had been born :P But please review and comment and tell me what you think! x OH and MRSCULLEN1122, I give you permission to choose the baby's name! Please choose something German, maybe a character's name or something, post it with your next review!**


	18. Epilogue

**A/N Here's the epilogue, I cried a bit, well a lot, writing this chapter and I hope you all won't hate me so much!**

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**Four years later…**

My fingers skim the keys of the typewriter as I finish my next piece. This one's a piece on how education in public schools should be less tough. I write for the local newspaper, where I live in Manhattan, New York. It's a simple job, but it pays well and I can feed my daughter healthily.

Ilse. I look out of the window at my little girl, who is chasing around a squirrel in our garden. Ilse Wendy Bergman-Gabor. Four years old, and yet still so much older. Her dark brown, curly hair tumbles over her powder blue dress and she giggles as she trips over a root. How much she looks like her mother. She has the same smile, the same eyes. Those eyes that I lost.

I suppose that I saw it coming. I had realized earlier that Wendla was perhaps too fragile to be able to get through the trip with a child. Her fever got worse, she got weaker and died a year after we arrived in America. Now she lies in a nearby cemetery. Ilse and I visit her often. I don't think Ilse really understands who her mother is, but one day, I will tell her everything. For now, I let her believe what she wants.

Wendla and I gave Ilse her first name, and then when Wendla passed, I gave her her second name, the American version of Wendla, Wendy. There's an English book, a very good book, called Peter Pan, and one of the characters is called Wendy. I read it to Ilse most nights and she giggles whenever she hears that name.

I suppose that I gave her the name to keep Wendla living, but I didn't need to. She's so much like Wendla, not just in appearance, but in the way she goes about. She talks like her, walks like her, she even has the same singing voice as her. But there will never will be another Wendla.

I tried meeting other women, mainly for Ilse's sake, to give her a motherly figure but I couldn't hold on to anybody. They were always too loud or too tall or too possessive or Ilse didn't like her. It took me a while to realize that the only problem was that they weren't Wendla.

Everyone's telling me that I'm doing a good job raising her, but I still think that Ilse needs her mother. I try my best, but there's only so much that a father can do.

Ilse goes to a Montessori kindergarten school, one of the first ones in America. I wanted her to go to a school where she wouldn't have to bow to authority, like Wendla and I did. I want her to enjoy learning and growing up and that school was perfect.

We live in a small house, two bedrooms, a lavatory and a kitchen but it's cozy and there's a garden with trees and flowers and an old lady who lives next door who helps me a lot with Ilse. Ilse spends most of her time outside, playing with the occasional squirrel or rabbit and picking out blue flowers for me to put in our nice vase on the dinner table.

She is my only joy in this world. My job, my money, my life, I would give it all up just so that she can be well and happy with that smile on her face. I will never act to her as Martha's father acted to Martha, never. I would hate myself too much if I did.

"Papa!" I hear a sobbing cry and Ilse runs through the garden door, clutching her knee, tears streaming down her face. I climb off the chair and kneel to her height.

"What happened, Ilse?"I say, wiping her cheeks with a handkerchief.

"I scraped my knee!" She sobs, moving her hand away, where I can see a scratch forming, oozing a tiny bit of blood.

I smile at her and kiss her on the forehead. "Come here, let's see what we can do for that." I pick her up and carry her over to sit on the kitchen counter. She swings her legs around as I look in the drawer for a clean rag and wet it with some cool water to dab on it. Ilse cringes a bit when it makes contact with the wound but otherwise she stays calm and collected.

"There, you see? It wasn't so bad." I say, wrapping a clean cloth around her leg. "Now, come and sit with me on the sofa and wait for it to get better, alright?"

She nods and jumps down off the counter. I gently guide her back through the kitchen door to the sofa and pull her onto my lap.

"Papa?" She murmurs.

"Yes, Wendy?" I say and she giggles a bit, before turning back to her serious self.

"Can you tell me another story about my Mama?" she asks resting her head against my neck.

"Alright, which one do you want?" I ask, kissing her on the top of her head.

"Umm, the one where you were playing pirates, and my Mama was a princess!" she exclaims and I begin the story.

I tell her all these stories, in hopes that she'll decipher who her mother was. But one day I will tell her everything. About Germany, about Moritz and Ilse, about our mothers, about our school, about our lives up until the moment that she was born. Then, I'll tell her about her mother. How her mother was the only love that I'll ever have and how she reminds me more and more of her every day. How her mother isn't truly gone.

But for now, I let her dream, let her wonder about anything and everything, let those wide eyes imagine the world for herself.

I hope that she can imagine the better world that I pray that I have built for her.

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**A/N There it was! Spring and Summer is officially finished! Thank you to all the lovely people who have been favoriting this story and adding it to their alerts and everyone who has been reviewing.**

**And incredibly enormous thank you to MRSCULLEN1122 who has been fantastic while I have been writing, boosting my confidence so much! x**

**I'm legit crying right now, this was my favorite story ever to write!**

**COMPLETE.**


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